Fallout 3: Taken 4 a Ride--Wait, that's terrible!
by Mister Takeda
Summary: When Catherine unexpectedly spits out a baby, James doesn't know what he'll do! First, he has sex with Madison Li to celebrate his wife's suspiciously timed death, then he moves into a vault that explicitly refuses to let anyone enter or leave, then he teaches his daughter to shoot him in the head repeatedly with a b.b. gun, to no ill effect, then he irresponsibly disappears!
*SPLAT!*

"The baby's here!" Liam Neeson said, callously calling to his perfect submissive Asian lover, while his wife, his literal fucking wife, lay before him, giving birth to his literal fucking child, he literally made, with fucking.

"AAAAaaaaa~" the infant said, gayly/retardedly.

"Catherine! You hear that? It speaks!"

"Oh, James! I think I'm dying!"

"Shut up, Honey! No one wants to hear your whining!" James turned fatherlyly towards his newborne daughter. "Now listen here, my precious darling. Even though you're my daughter, I'm going to call you son sometimes. It's just a tick I have and I'll hear no more about it, okay, little guy?"

"AAAaaaaaa~" said Catherine.

"Honey," James said sternly, "this is your last warning."

James had to hit Catherine sometimes, because she was black. I bet you didn't know that. Check the character editor. It's true! In my play through, James was Asian, and Catherine was black, which made me some kind of swarthy Latin lover type. Now, back to the show.

* * *

"I sure am sorry your mother died, and I did nothing to save her."

"Wah wah!"

"Oh, Calf, you shitty little infant," James said, lovingly, "What the hell is your problem?"

Calf vomited profusely, before repeating herself, "Wah wah!"

"Yes! Water! That was your mother's favorite Bible verse!" James stated, non sequiturorially, taking a swig from a bottle of turpentine he sometimes used for crafting.

"Asss!" Calf yelled, belated.

"Yes, sweetie. Ass."

Cameron confusedly searched through a picture book, adjusting random stats.

Somewhere, Todd Howard counted his money Jewishly.

* * *

A white flash, completely skipping an embarrassing first period, and some bizarre parental advice.

"AAAAaaaaaa~"

"Shut up, Faggot!" Biff McSkin says, punching you in your arm.

"Ugh!" you said, your eyes being splashed with blood. Your health bar appears and diminishes slightly.

"Are you enjoying your birthday party, Calf?" Asks Chuck Manriguez, clearly ignoring the first birthday related assault of the evening.

"Yes, very much, Mr. Manriguez," you select from a menu.

"Good, good," he says, woodenly, feigning empathy.

You contemplate the state of your local law enforcement while a robot mangles a cake in the distance. Everyone seems oddly concerned, even though they will later, somewhat ironically, ignore the many instances of murderous incompetence performed by the droid.

"Fuck you, robot!" You say in earnest.

The robot pretends to be British, deflecting the ire of the crowd. You think if he sounded like he was from Brooklyn he'd be scrap right now. Such a charming Isle!

Beef Fingle tosses a sticky confectionary at the back of your head.

"Ugh," you say, and your health bar appears again.

* * *

"You can't have AIDS. That's a gay person's disease," you hear your father say.

The room fades into view, and you're a budding woman now, with perky little breasts and everything. Jesus, how the time flies!

"You're making Daddy uncomfortable," you hear your father say, and you stop exploring your breasts for a moment.

"I don't want to GOAT," you level with your father.

"You need to GOAT," he says, with a frankness that erodes all resistance.

"Fine. But I'm going to choose to create my own class afterward," you say, defiantly.

"Fine. Whatever. Just don't waste any points on explosives."

"Alright, dad," you say, pushing your budding breasts into his strong, manly chest. You feel slightly aroused.

He laughs nervously as you swagger out of the room, ready to get your GOAT on. Oh, fuck. It's bullies. What a surprise!

"Hand over your lunch money, Amata!" Dick Wellington says to the only woman you've ever masturbated to.

"You grease niggers better leave my Amata alone!"

"You're half black, Calf!" one of them reminds you.

"That ain't cool," another says, SJWingly.

"Regardless," you say, "The woman is 'cumming' with me," and your mouth becomes a sideways three.

"Oh, man! Calf's a lesbian!" One of Beef's crew states.

"Oh, man! That's hot!" another declares.

Your sexiness has defeated the bullies. Now you can grind in peace.

"Ugh.. I'm not gay, Calf!" Amata exclaims.

"Look, you can call it whatever you want but, you have one of my pubic hairs on your face right now."

BETHESDA SOFTWORKS flashes across the screen, and the pubic hair mysteriously disappears.

"Thanks for helping me with my homework!" you declare, ironically and without innuendo.

"No problem!" Amata says, with nary a hint of your juices on her upper lip.

"Let's go to class and get our GOAT on!"

"Fuck yeah!" she says, giving you a heterosexual camel grab.

"Mmm," you say, licking her ear platonically.

* * *

Mister Assley makes you take your seats. He begins speaking, but his dreamy enormous cock keeps you from concentrating.

"Calf. You wanna stop staring at my junk?"

"Sorry, Mr. Assley!"

The class laughs derisively.

"Are you white bitches ready for the GOAT?"

"Yes, Mr. Assley!" the chorus drones, your voice adding a ~.

"Good. Cause that's what I'm about to give ya!"

"Yay!" says the suck up in the front row, who is you.

"Fuck, Calf. Get off my dick, already!" Mr. Assley says, unprofessionally.

The test is utterly retarded.

"A mad scientist says a bunch of cliché junk. It's all technobabble. Ain't it weird, living in a 1950's retrofuture kids?!"

"Yes, Mr. Assley," the room drones.

"I am good at explosives!" You shout impulsively, losing 25 precious points to a skill you'll rarely use while simultaneously disappointing your father.

* * *

"God, what a retarded test," Biff Assheart says, wiping away tears.

"Yeah. Mine said I was a carpet cleaner."

"Oh yeah?! Well mine said local punk! Can you believe that shit? Me! A punk!"

"That's some pretty good Bethesda humor, Biff," you say, supportively.

"Yeah, well.. it ain't no Bioware bullshit, that's for sure."

"You never know. We could be having sex right now."

"Yeah, right," he pouts, sluffing off his 'essential' tag.

You immediately kill him in a violent and depraved fashion.

* * *

"Wake up, bitch!" Amata pinches your nose shut, reveling in the build up, punctuated by your grasps for air.

"Jesus, Amata!" you cough.

"My father is looking for you! He says he's going to kill you for getting me teen pregnant!"

"What?!" you exclaim, certain that scissoring can do no such thing.

"I know, right?! I told him I wanted it. But he knows you're black, and he protests. There isn't much time, Calf! You've got to get out of her!" she sobs profusely.

"Well, my father ran away several days ago, I guess I could go looking for him."

"Yea. That'll work," your angel says. "Say, turn around one last time."

"Ugh. Alright," you acquiesce.

"Fuck. That ass," she inhales, fingering your asshole lightly.

You endure it awkwardly, as Amata loses a finger down her pants. You think how much hotter it would be if Beth kept the jumpsuits. She moans and spits in your mouth. Jesus.

"I'm going to miss you, old friend!" you say, nuzzled against her breasts.

"God, you're such a sub pussy bitch! I'm almost sorry I shared you with my friends," Amata waxes, hugging you goodbye.

* * *

"AAAAAaaaaa!" Manriguez cries as you take a bat to his kneecaps.

"Please, Mr. Manriguez. I just want to escape," you reason, as you put down the bat and begin working him with the blowtorch.

"I TRIED TO HELP YOU ESCAPE! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!"

"Squirming just makes me hornier, Mr. Manriguez," you say, not caring much whether he lives or dies.

* * *

"It sure is heavy, carrying all these umpire uniforms and football helmets," you say to God, hauling your swag after the chaos comes crashing to a halt, the tumult and rigor fading into your lifebar. "Good thing I like ten millimeter ammo."

"I like point-thirty-two," you imagine God saying.

"That's crazy, God."

"What can I say? I love revolvers!"

"Hahahaha!" goes the choirs in your head.

* * *

"I'm a black sheriff and I say—"

* * *

"I'm sorry my daddy is dead. I sure miss him. He said you could take the keys to this house."

* * *

"Can I interest you in some robolingus, Madame?"


End file.
